


An Exercise in Self-Restraint

by walkwithursus



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Caretaking, Developing Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Rescue, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:33:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25155532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/pseuds/walkwithursus
Summary: Guillermo is attacked while cleaning the cell. Nandor rescues him and tends to his wounds.
Relationships: Guillermo de la Cruz/Nandor the Relentless
Comments: 23
Kudos: 200





	An Exercise in Self-Restraint

Guillermo knows he’s about to die. 

One minute he is struggling and kicking, clawing and fighting with all his might, and the next his fingers are relaxing their hold on his assailant’s clothing, his limbs falling still. His vision fades as his brain diverts blood to keep his heart beating, and Guillermo can feel it thumping wildly in his chest, the blood pounding to a roar in his ears. The number of beats he has left suddenly seems so finite, but there’s a sort of peace in knowing that. After all, hasn’t he wanted his heart to stop for some time now? Hasn’t he been counting down the beats like so many check marks on his bedroom wall? 

_Dying is easy,_ he thinks, a final thought he finds appropriately poetic. _Living is harder._

Guillermo has no sooner made his peace with death than the weight on top of him is lifted. The pressure around his airway eases as the hands wrapped around his throat disappear, and Guillermo coughs, sucks in air and coughs again as he snaps back into his body like a rubber band. His own rattling, choked up breaths are loud in his ears, and the oxygen that rushes back in to flood his brain and body scorches like fire. There is no relief.

For what feels like hours Guillermo lays on the floor, his chest heaving and lungs rattling with every agonizing, sandpapery breath. By the time the ringing in his ears subsides, he can hear voices, though it is a while longer before they come clearly into focus. 

“You can’t just leave a victim unchained in here! It’s not safe,” someone is shouting, a deep voice booming with indignation from what feels like very far away. “What if he had fashioned a stake? What if he had attacked one of us when we came in here? Did you even think about that?”

“I didn’t leave him unchained!” a woman spits back, her voice a snarl. “Look at his wrist. Shackled, see? He must have broken the chain from the wall.” There’s a rattling, clanking sound, and then a thump as of a heavy body part flopping to the ground. 

“Well, why didn't you just drain him in the first place?” the first voice asks, and Guillermo recognizes it now as Nandor. His master. Gratitude wells within him, only to be replaced inexplicably by a rush of fear. He hadn’t wanted Nandor to find him. Guillermo remembers that now, from flashes during the struggle, but for the life of him he can’t remember why. 

“He had drugs in his blood. Stare-oils,” Nadja is explaining. “They wear off after a day or so. I was going to let him sit in there until he was ready, but now you and your little helper have gone and ruined him. So thanks a lot for that.”

 _Steroids,_ Guillermo thinks deliriously. _The man was on steroids. No wonder he was so freakishly strong._

“He could have killed my familiar,” Nandor shoots back. “And you are worried about your poisoned meal? Look at Guillermo, asleep on the floor. He could have died thanks to your mistake.”

“So what?” asks Nadja, and Guillermo can hear the shrug in her voice. “So he dies? Then you just get another one.”

A vicious hissing match follows this declaration, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. After a minute, Nandor shouts “Get out!” and Nadja complies, her skirts swishing as she exits the room. Nandor heaves a disgruntled sigh in her absence, and Guillermo realizes with dawning horror that they are alone. 

_Stay away,_ Guillermo thinks, a low moan slipping past his lips. _Don’t come near me._

The thoughts do nothing to deter Nandor, whose heavy footsteps fall over hardwood as he approaches. Guillermo opens his eyes to see his master towering above him, his features furrowed with anger, or possibly concern. 

“Are you alright?” Nandor asks.

Guillermo shakes his head, reaching trembling fingers to his throat. He remembers now, the reason he had not wanted to call for Nandor during the attack, why he does not want to be near him now; he’s bleeding badly from a head wound. He can feel the stickiness against his cheek, the warm trickle at his hairline.

“Can you stand?”

Guillermo tries, shifting onto his elbows and propping his body up at the waist. He can see the figure of his attacker slumped on the floor in the corner of the room, where Guillermo assumes Nandor tossed his body after killing him. The man’s head has been removed from his shoulders, and a puddle of dark black blood is inching slowly across the floor boards. Guillermo squeezes his eyes shut to avoid looking for the missing head, though he is sure he’ll have to find it and clean it up later. 

_One thing at a time._

“Come on, up you get,” says Nandor, and suddenly Guillermo finds himself on his feet, heavily supported by the sturdy vampire beside him. He feels his body moving, stumbling and dragging over the floor with minimal cooperation on his part until they are out of the cell and in the hallway. Guillermo wants to ask where Nandor is taking him, but his throat hurts too badly to form words. 

Nandor leads him into the ground floor bathroom and immediately begins rummaging around in the cupboards. Guillermo takes advantage of his distraction to glance in the mirror above the sink, and his stomach flip-flops as his appearance swims into view. 

Nadja's would-be victim really did a number on him. Deep purple bruises ring Guillermo’s neck in the shape of hand prints, and his eyes are bloodshot, the blood vessels having burst as he was strangled. The entire right side of his face is coated in blood, oozing steadily from an open wound hidden under his hair. Guillermo thinks he should probably go to the hospital, but squashes the thought immediately. Even if he had health insurance, how would he get there? He has no car, and it's unlikely a bus driver would let him on in this state.

There's movement in the mirror—a white bundle floating of its own accord in the space behind him. Guillermo turns to see Nandor holding a few supplies, a serious expression on his deathly pale face. When he gulps, Guillermo’s throat burns like fire. 

“Sit,” Nandor orders, pointing to the toilet. 

Slowly, carefully, Guillermo lowers the lid and obeys. His heart is pounding again, the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through his veins, and he thinks perhaps he should make a run for it. Not that he could hope to escape the vampire should he give chase, but perhaps putting distance between himself and Nandor would give him a fighting chance. 

Nandor runs the cloth under the faucet to dampen it and brings it to Guillermo’s head. 

“I can—“ Guillermo cuts off. His voice is a rasp, barely intelligible. He tries again in a whisper, reaching for the rag Nandor is holding. “I can do that.”

“Nonsense,” says Nandor, and he presses the damp cloth against his forehead. The sting is immediate, and Guillermo clenches his fingers on the slack fabric of his khakis, sucking a sharp breath in through his teeth. 

“Does it hurt?” Nandor asks, lifting the cloth and peering down at him with a raised brow.

“A little,” Guillermo admits. He reaches up to feel the area and winces at the giant goose egg beginning to form there.

Nandor bats his hand away impatiently and replaces the cloth, his touch feather-light against Guillermo’s scalp. “Well, I’m sure it can’t hurt worse than getting hit over the head with a—what did he hit you with?”

“A lamp.”

“A lamp?” Nandor pulls a face. “ _Eesh._ I hope it wasn’t one of the good ones.” 

Guillermo says nothing to that. In the short amount of time he’s worked for Nandor, he has yet to come across an object in their home that isn’t valuable in one way or another. One of the drawbacks to becoming a vampire; everything eventually becomes an heirloom. 

“You are very lucky I heard the commotion when I did,” Nandor continues in a stern tone of voice. “I was asleep in my coffin at the time. I had to rush out and look all around the house before I found you. Another minute and you would have been dead for sure.” He pulls his hand back, and Guillermo glances up to find Nandor glaring at him. “Why didn’t you call out for me? Hm?”

Guillermo wrings his hands for a moment before answering. “The blood. I was bleeding, and…”

“And what? You thought I wouldn’t be able to handle it?” Nandor scoffs. “You think I am some insatiable, bloodthirsty monster who is incapable of controlling himself?”

Guillermo makes a gesture as if to say ‘Well, aren’t you?’ After all, Nandor has said as much during self-aggrandizing moments in the past, bragging away about his prowess in battle, his powerful thirst, and his unrivaled disregard for human life. 

“You have been watching too many movies,” Nandor chastises simply, and he removes the cloth from Guillermo’s head to rinse it under the faucet. Guillermo watches, mesmerized, as the pink water runs down the drain. Nandor squeezes the blood from it until it is clean again before returning it to Guillermo’s wound.

“Do I not… Am I not appetizing to you?” Guillermo asks dumbly, the words falling out of his mouth before he can stop them.

Nandor’s eyes harden, though his touch remains exceedingly gentle. “What gave you that impression?”

“It’s just that I’ve seen how you react to blood before. But right now, with me, you’re not…”

“Not struggling?” Nandor finishes for him, incredulous. 

Guillermo glances up meekly into Nandor’s face, and notes for the first time the blackness of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. 

_Oh._

“I’m sorry,” Guillermo whispers, looking back down at his lap. “I should have called for you.”

“Yes, you should have,” Nandor says with a sniff, and he moves the cloth from Guillermo’s forehead to begin swiping at the blood on his cheek. One hand comes up under Guillermo’s chin to tilt his face upwards, and Guillermo suppresses a shiver at the chill of his touch. “Now, would you care to tell me what happened?”

“I came in to clean the cell,” Guillermo starts, his voice cracking painfully on every other word. “I didn’t know anyone would be in there. He was waiting for me behind the door. He attacked me. I tried to keep him from escaping, but he was too strong.”

“It’s not entirely your fault, Guillermo,” Nandor says consolingly, his expression grim. “Nadja should not have left him in the cell like that. She should have escorted him out when she realized his blood was poisoned.”

“Is she going to be mad at me?” Guillermo whispers, wincing as Nandor dabs the rag delicately under one eye. Of all the vampires in the house, Nadja scares him the most. 

“For a little while, but you mustn’t let it get to you. I’m sure if you bring her a new victim she will forgive you in no time. Preferably one without the stare-oils this time.”

“Steroids,” Guillermo corrects in a rasp. 

“As I said.” With a final swipe to Guillermo’s face, Nandor sets the bloodied cloth aside and leans back to inspect his work. “There. Good as new!” he pronounces.

Standing shakily, Guillermo makes his way over to the mirror to check for himself. Without the blood coating one half of his face, he looks a great deal less frightening, though its absence only highlights the prominence of his other injuries.

Guillermo doesn't mention this, instead turning to look up into Nandor's face. “Thank you, Master,” he says quietly, stifling the other words that threaten to come pouring out of his mouth. _I should have trusted you. I should have known you wouldn't hurt me. I'm sorry._

“You are welcome, Guillermo. Now, tonight you must go to the hardware store and pick up some new restraints for the cell. The eye hook was all rusty. I think that is why he was able to yank it free from the wall. That, or the planks are rotting again. You should probably buy both, just in case.”

Guillermo merely looks at Nandor, leaning back heavily against the sink for support. He remembers hearing a fact somewhere, that in true combat, ten seconds of fighting is the adrenaline equivalent of punching a wall as hard and as fast as possible for a solid minute. Guillermo's not sure how many he fought for, but it had to have been at least three. “Do you mind if I just… lay down for awhile first?” he asks, his legs wobbling beneath him as the fatigue sets in. 

Nandor eyes him critically for a moment before relenting. “Tomorrow, then,” he says, ushering Guillermo out the door with a supportive arm around his shoulders. “Tonight, we will make a list of the things we need, and tomorrow I will accompany you so that you don’t screw it up.”

Guillermo sags against Nandor’s side as they turn left at the end of the hallway, heading for Guillermo’s closet-bedroom. “Thank you,” he says again, adding only in his head, _for saving my life._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments greatly appreciated.


End file.
